


Soldier On

by slowtownwhxre



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, Percy Jackson and the Olympians - Rick Riordan
Genre: Dark Percy, Dead Annabeth Chase, Hurt Percy, Hurt Tony Stark, Hurt/Comfort, Tony Stark Is a Good Bro
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-10-01
Updated: 2018-10-30
Packaged: 2019-07-21 02:06:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 4
Words: 11,216
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16150274
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/slowtownwhxre/pseuds/slowtownwhxre
Summary: Annabeth was his everything. His literal everything. His in and out. He was her everything, her in and out. They were fucked up, but it was okay. Because they had each other, and they had outside help, thanks to their therapist John. Everything was good until it wasn't.





	1. 1. We're Okay

**This story is also on fanfic.net under "GeorgiaRomanoff". T'is me.**

* * *

 

“Your taste in music is shit, Seaweed Breathe.” Annabeth teased. I flash her the smile I’m famous for. She doesn’t respond. “I don’t understand this.” She huffed. I pull myself up, hanging my head on her shoulder, looking at the worksheet in her lap.

  “Legal stuff?”

   “Yep. What the fuck is this question? Discuss the extent to which limitation of actions upholds at least one of the principles of justice? This is all bullshit. I don’t understand.” She huffs. I take the sheets from her, kissing the side of her head. “I’m just so tired.”

 

   “So am I. So, no homework, okay? You’re still recovering, and so am I. We’re not doing good. You do not have to be working.”

 

   “Dork.” She mumbles back. “What can I do without work?”

 

   “Me?”

 

   “Fuck off.”

 

   “You have a pimple, can I get it?” I don’t wait for a response, pulling myself up to her, her leaning against my waist, turning her head into me, squeezing the pimples until they pop.

 

   “We’re weird, Perce. We’re really weird.”

 

“Yeah.” I sit down, grabbing my phone. Annabeth continues to work. Enjoying being with each other. I turn off my phone after a bit, watching her work. Her writing quickly, pausing, reading. Eyebrows rising in confusion, then more writing. Her pushing her hair behind her ear, bouncing the pen on my leg as she thinks about what else to do.

 

“Are you watching me?”

 

“Maybe.” I hum in response. She leans her head back, flipping her bottom lip out, frowning at me. “What? You’re too cute not watch.”

 

“Fuck off.”

 

“Never.” I push her work away, pulling her into me, kissing her neck, her check, the top of her head. “I love you.”

 

She giggles, pressing her forehead against mine, connecting our noses and heads; “I love you more.”

 

“I love you most.”

 

* * *

 

Annabeth stood in front of me, chatting as she chopped the vegetables for dinner, water boiling in the background. She’s mostly talking about her university options, saying she’s considering New Rome, but mostly mortal universities.

 

Each chop is the same, rhythmic. Chop after chop after chop. The boiling water growing louder and louder. I can’t hear Annabeth talking anymore, but I can see her mouth moving. The chops are getting louder and louder, pounding getting louder and louder in my eyes. The boiling reaching all the extremes.

 

I take a slow, deep breathe. Trying to calm myself, trying to control the sudden tightness in my chest, the bouncing of my leg that is becoming almost uncontrollable. I try divert the energy, bouncing my leg faster, tapping my fingers hard against the table top. In any anxious attempt to keep the panic attack at bay.

 

Then shit hits the fan. The water boils over, Annabeth curses loudly, and all the attempts to keep myself calm fail. I take a deep breathe, but it fails. Turning into sharp, fast, shuddering breathing, hands shaking out of control. Everything burns, I try rub my arms, my face. The burning on my skin itching, screaming to be touched, but screaming if something touches it. Eyes stinging, the tears cooling my skin slightly, but not much.

 

“Don’t touch me.” I gasp out. Annabeth turns, her face paling upon realising what’s happening. She moves forward. I want to move away, but my legs won’t respond to my brain.

 

“Ground yourself, do you remember how?”

 

“Don’t touch me.” I repeat, pulling myself into her, holding my face into hers shoulders. She doesn’t move her arms, but continues to whisper to me. She doesn’t move her arms, and I continue breathing into her. As the panic slowly fades away, and Annabeth’s voice becomes clearer and clearer.

 

“Can I touch you?” She asks, still whispering. I nod into her chest, and within seconds her arms are under my shoulders, pulling me up, closer to her. “You’re here, with me. In the apartment. We’re here, we’re okay. We’re alive. We’re safe. You’re safe. I’m safe. We’re making a shitty dinner, with shitty vegetables and pasta. And we’re okay.”

 

I play with her hair, wrapping strands around my fingers, allowing myself to become calmer and calmer. “We’re okay.”

 

She pulls away from me, her hands in my hair. “Tell me next time. Okay, Seaweed Brain?”

 

“Okay, Wise girl.”

 

“Pasta, vegetables and some of the chicken from last night. Sounds like a good dinner. Are you hungry?”

 

“Yeah, it wasn’t too much of a bad one. I think I can still eat.”

“You can always eat, Babe.” She teases, smiling softly. I push at her softly. “Come help me, it will distract you from it all?” I don’t want to move, but her hands are tightly in mine, pulling me up after her, following her to the cutting board, wrapping my arms around her waist. I balance my head on her shoulder, watching her cut a few vegetables, before she holds a knife up to me. I take it from her, not really wanting to move out of the way of her, but she slips away, heating the chicken and pasta. Clicking on the stove for the chopped vegetables.

 

“Calm?”

 

“Yeah. Thank you. Remind me again how lucky I am to have you?”

 

“Hm?” She hums, pressing her lips against my shoulder. “Do you want to continue complimenting me, and saying how amazing and beautiful I am?”

 

“Annabeth Chase, you are so amazing and perfect. How did I get so lucky to have fallen completely in love with you. I love you, so much.”

 

“I love you more.” She hums, her arms now wrapped around my waist. “And most. I love you more and most.”

 

* * *

 

Annabeth sits between my legs, head bobbing as she dozes to sleep. Waking up and lifting her head up, blinking her eyes. Her head back against mine, her hair tickling my head, my neck.

 

I can feel sleep slowly overtaking me, until Annabeth tenses in my arms, and lets out a small cry, begging to be let go. Begging to stop being tortured. I shake her softly, whispering her name. But it doesn’t work. I shake her again, a bit rougher again. She mumbles in reply, tears slipping out of her eyes.

 

“You’re with me, shh.” I mumble into her ear, but she doesn’t respond. I move down, turning her to lay facing my chest, her arms wrapping around mine, still mumbling, crying. Flashbacks flicking through her mind, all of _there_. Of that hell scape, that place that destroyed us.

 

We stay like this, shaking her softly, muttering until her eyes flick open, and she tightens her grip; “Percy…”

 

* * *

 

Cocopops are a morning thing. Annabeth is beside me, sitting in a band shirt she stole from me, and a pair of my boxers. I teased her that I was stealing her panties in return. She had laughed at me, saying be my guest.

 

She had almost passed out from laughing so hard when I walked out in them, changing quickly into my normal boxers, poking her for laughing so hard.

 

“I always get so tired in the mornings. I think we gotta stop having sex first off. It tires me out so much.”

 

“Hm?” I reply, my mouth full over milk and cereal.

 

“Who am I even kidding, I love it. Ignore me, I’m just worrying about why I’m tired. Do you have therapy today?”

 

“Yeah. I told you about the PTSD diagnosis yeah?”

 

“Yeah. Is John good?”

 

“Thinking of going?”

 

“It helps you, may as well work for me too. I need help for panic attacks, just simply. They fucking suck.”

 

“They really fucking suck. I have therapy at I think 12. We can go for lunch after?”

 

“Nah. Lunch here, then we can just cuddle forever.”

 

“What a romantic.” I tease. She grabs my hand, kissing it.

 

“What a tease.”

 

* * *

 

“How was the session? Perce?” Annabeth is watching TV when I enter again.

 

“He said I’m depressed. I don’t think I’m depressed. Do you think I’m depressed?”

 

“A little. But so I am.” She is up, watching me run hands through my hair.

 

“I don’t understand. I don’t want to. I. I don’t understand? He said its probably just severe seasonal depression. But we can’t know for sure until summer. It’s a symptom of PTSD, so it makes sense.” I fade off, and her hand is on my arm. “I don’t want to feel like this.”

 

“Which is?”

 

“Grey. Sad. Suicidal. The usual. You?”

 

“Grey, anxious. Craving death. We’re a match made in heaven.” She mumbles. I smile at her, fiddling with her (my) shirt, pulling her in tightly. “We’ll get through this. We always will. I promise you.”

 

“I told John that you wanted to see him as well, he has your number now. We just have to go to the GP, so you can see him legally.” I tell her. She nods into her chest, her arms around my waist, hands playing with the rim of my shirt.

“Thanks, Seaweed Brain.”

 

“I’m not so much of a Seaweed Brain, huh? I’m organising your therapy sessions.”

 

“Shush, you. Left overs for lunch?”

 

“If take out’s for dinner, yes.”

 

* * *

 

 

“I can’t deal with these nightmares, Annie. I can’t deal with them.” Her arm is over mine, rubbing me slowly. Tears are falling thick and fast, the panic simmering underneath all the emotions. Her knuckles are rubbing against my skin, kissing the other side of my body. “I feel so sick.”

 

“Do you need to get up?” I pause before answering her, but I barely can before my throat feels full, and I push her off, running to the bathroom. Barely making it to the toilet, leaning over it. Annabeth is in after me, hand on my back. “You’re okay. It’s going to be okay.”

 

“It doesn’t feel like it.” I mutter, leaning over the toilet again, my throat burning as more hits the toilet. “This feels so fucking endless.”

 

“It’s just hard right now. It’s just hard now. Because its different. We don’t have a quest. It’s quiet. It’s different to us. It’s strange, I know. But we’re together, so it’s okay.”

 

 

The apartments pool was always hot, the window fogging up from the heat. I pull myself up to the wall of the pool, my checks slightly hot from the physical exhaustion. Annabeth was laying on a pool chair, reading some book that I didn’t give a shit about.

 

“Come swim with me?”

 

“I’m reading.”

 

“So?” I coax. She raises her eyes from the book, as I pull myself out. She doesn’t reply, looking me up and down slowly. “Are you checking me out?”

 

“Am I not allowed?”

 

“If you don’t come swimming, no.” She groans, folding a page, climbing into the pool with me.

 

“No races.”

 

“Just one?”

 

“No!”

 

“Is it because you know you won’t win?”

 

“Percy, need I remind you. You’re the son of the sea god. You will always win.”

 

“Come on…” I try, holding her arms, kicking my legs benth me in the deep water.

 

“You just want to nickname me Loser for the week.”

 

“You won at our last competition. It’s my turn.”

 

“Fine.” She drops under the water, pushing off. I can almost hear her laughing, saying she gets the head start.

 

I push off after her, breaking into an easy sprint-freestyle, easily beating her.

 

“Loser.” I tease. She splashes water. “Don’t even try.”

 

“Bitch.”

 

“A sore loser?” I question. She splashes water again, then pulls close to me, wrapping an arm around my neck.

 

“Jerk.”

 

* * *

 

 

I sink to the bottom of the pool, no sound reaching me. Calmness. Everything is quiet. Everything is different to how it was ten minutes ago, screaming at each other for the stupidest reasons.

 

Annabeth had another quest. I didn’t. I wasn’t in the quest. It was her and a new kid.

 

I begged her not to go, begging that I was worried about her. I was worrying that she could die. She denied that she could.

 

“I’ll be fine. I have that kid, Tyler. We’ll be fine.”

 

“But what if you aren’t?”

 

“I’ll be careful. I promise, okay?” She took my hands, but I pulled away. Glaring at her.

 

“What if you die?”

 

“I won’t.”

 

“Tyler is too young… What if. What if you’re overwhelmed? Anything could happen, this is so dangerous.”

 

“Percy, I’M PERFECTLY CAPABLE.”

 

“I’M NOT DENYING THAT! I’m _worried_ about you. I’m really worried about you.”

 

“You’re worried about yourself. This is selfish.”

 

“I DON’T WANT YOU TO DIE, IS THAT TOO MUCH TO FUCKING ASK?”

 

“BELIEVE IN ME!”

 

“I do.” I rack my hands through my hair, shaking with anger. I take a long, rough breath out of my nose, and another one in. “I just hate that I can’t protect you.”

 

“Then you don’t believe in me.” She is standing close to me, hands crossed over her body. “If you believed in me, you would let me go.”

 

“I believe you. I tell you that every day. I’m just worried about your wellbeing, and possible death.”

 

“WE’RE DEMI-GODS! FOR FUCKS SAKE, WE’RE IN DANGER every day!”

 

“That doesn’t mean you need to put yourself in more danger, Annabeth.”

 

“It does, if it means defending the camp and defending the world. If you believed in me, if you know I can do this. Let me go.”

 

“Not without a fight.”

 

“I’m going, whether you like it or not.”

 

I pause, biting my lip. Leaning against the wall. “Talk about this at dinner. I need to calm down.”

 

“DON’T YOU LEAVE THIS FIGHT!” She snaps, but I’m already out of the door.

 

She came to the pool, standing over the edge. I watch her thinking, sitting there for a while. Her legs dangling in the water, on her phone. She looks down every few minutes, seeing if I have moved (I haven’t).

 

I can’t admit that I’m wrong, nor will she. I can’t let her go, because if she dies it’s on me. It’s on me for letting her go, and not protecting her. If she dies, it’s all on me.

 

There’s a burst of bubbles next to me, and Annabeth is sliding down the pool wall, using her hands in a rough motion to pull her to the bottom, grabbing my leg to pull her up to me. She puts her feet on the bottom of the pool, holding my arm now, about to pull us up. But I move faster, holding her, and putting a bubble around the both of us.

 

“I can’t let you leave without a fight, because I’ll blame myself if you die, because I wasn’t there to protect you, and I didn’t stop you from doing something that killed you.”

 

“Then you don’t believe in me.”

 

“Stop pulling that. I do believe in you. You’re strong enough to do this quest on your own, you literally completed one of the hardest quests to exist. But my belief in you, does not change the fact that I’m worried about you, and I worry about you dying. It never will change, and I will always put up a fight if you’re going on a quest, because I worry.”

 

“Don’t.”

 

“I always will. I love you, and me loving you comes with me worrying about you. I know I’m being a shitty boyfriend, but please. Let me worry.”

 

“Let me do this quest.”

 

“I always will. But I still worry so much. I do trust you, I do believe in you. I just can’t lose you.”

 

“I know.” She mumbles, leaning her head on my chest. “We’re a mess.”

 

“When aren’t we?”

 

“Touché.”

 

“When do you leave?”

 

She pauses; “tomorrow.”

 

* * *

 

Everything was okay when she came back, holding each other tightly, breathing into each other. She was injured, but not badly. Nothing Will couldn’t fix. We went back home after that, basically connected at the hip again.

 

Her laughing, mostly at me trying to cook food. Teaching me. Cooking together, leaving me to chop all the vegetables and meat up, her to do the actual cooking, stating I’d probably burnt the entire city down if I could.

 

But she taught me, and I learnt. Slowly.

 

On the morning. That morning. I woke up first, cooking her favourite breakfast. Eggs with bacon on toast. It took a little longer than thought, and she was awake by the time I was cracking the egg.

 

She sat at the bench, wearing one of my shirts, and boxers, her hair falling over her, blond curls framing her face.

 

“Don’t overcook the eggs ‘cause you’re staring at me.”

 

I smiled at her, going back to cooking, handing her the food when I’ve finished, watching her eat.

 

“I love you,” I tell her. She smiles back.

 

“I love you. I have therapy today. John is suggesting I might have PTSD too. I mean no shit, Sherlock. But..”

 

“It’s hard getting a diagnosis.”

 

“Yeah.” She finishes. “But it should be good. Amazing breakfast, by the way. You may have to cook for me every day.”

 

“Sure.”

 

* * *

 

She doesn’t return for hours. I try distract myself, going to the gym, working out. Keep the panic attack at bay, then swimming. Laying.

 

Something is off when the clock hits 5, and she hasn’t returned. I risk calling her, and nothing happens. She doesn’t pick up.

 

Then the panic attack happens. Screaming, holding myself against the wall. Breathing in and out too fast, hyperventilating. Its panic I have never felt.

 

It doesn’t stop until there’s rapping on my door, I stumble for the door, opening it. Two men stand there. Men in blue.

 

“Percy Jackson?”

 

I can’t respond, I can’t speak. Shaking too much to move my mouth, to utter words. So I nod.

 

They don’t say anything, for a moment. “Can we come in?”

 

I don’t move out of the way, unable to move. “No.”

 

“We’re here to talk to you about Annabeth Chase. She’s been reported dead, in a car accident.”

 

“She. She doesn’t – she doesn’t drive.”

 

“She was hit, along with three others. A rogue driver.”

 

I can’t respond. Swaying slightly, the panic building and screaming more and more. There’s a tightness in my throat. I reach for the door, but it’s not there. There’s warmness coming out of my mouth, and the officers stepping forward, holding me up, taking me to a couch. 


	2. Fine

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for the reviews and favs n follows. I appreciate y'all a lot.  
> I'm a struggling adult (this is weird) but I'm getting there.  
> I don't own Percy Jackson or the MCU...  
> Thanks for loving me

I held myself until the officers left, deeming me stable enough. At least until the morning, mother would be contacted and sent to the apartment. They muttered their sorry’s, saying how awful they fault for my loss. And left.

 

I’m fine. I tell myself, standing up, shaking hands.

 

I’m fine. I repeat, grabbing a glass from the top shelf, hands shaking too much to hold it. It flies to the ground, smashing at my feet. I don’t move.

 

I’m fine. I say again, grabbing another glass, walking across to the tap, crunching the only thing that I can hear, other then a deafening pounding.

 

I’m fine. I repeat again, hands slippery with sweat as I turned on the tap, filling a glass with water.

 

“You’re fine.” I tell myself, leaning against the table top, shaking hands bringing the glass to my lips. The cool liquid gliding down my throat.

 

“You’re fine.” I say, refusing to look down at the bloodied footsteps. “You’re fine. You’re fine.”

 

I take deep breath after deep breath, anything to control myself. I catch a look at the blood, staining the white tiles Annabeth have loved so much. I can’t rip my eyes away, nor I can I feel the stinging pain I should be feeling in my feet.

 

I can’t feel my body.

 

I can’t feel my hands shaking so much, that the second glass slips and falls, shards flying into my leg, water spilling all over the floor. I look down at it, waving my hand to dry to water. The shards have no matter. They aren’t important.

 

I move forward, pacing around the apartment.

 

I’m fine, but I can’t be in here.

 

I don’t grab the key, leaving too quickly to care. The landlord can get me in later, I tell myself as I leave the complex, unable to feel the cold pavement under my bleeding feet.

 

I’m fine. I say again, walking. Gazing at the sky. The panic has left me, nothing else remains. No aches, no pains. My body doesn’t hurt, it doesn’t scream for me to stop. Or, I can’t tell if it is.

 

“Sir? Sir, you’re bleeding. Are you okay?” A concerned woman asks, standing in front of me. I shrug her off, continuing to walk the streets. “Don’t you care that you killed my daughter?”

 

“What?” I hiss, turning around. Athena is standing there, her usual composure gone.

 

“Don’t you care? You sent her to therapy. If she hadn’t gone. If she hadn’t gone, she’d be alive. She’s dead, and you’re to blame.”

 

I can’t reply.

 

I did. I told her it would be good. She left to go to therapy. She died on the way there, or way back. She wouldn’t have died if she was with me. If she was at home. If we were together. I could have protected her. If I hadn’t insisted she tried my therapist, she could have seen another. The other side, the other way.

 

“You killed her.” She was gone.

  
And I was left.

 

Mumbling I’m fine to myself, but soon I couldn’t stand. The pain in my feet starting. I attempt to walk more, reach a river. Something to cool my now burning skin. My burning body. The burning body I couldn’t feel seconds ago. The body that I want to tear away because everything is screaming in pain.

 

“I’m fine.” I tell myself again, stepping into the river, the flow pulling away the glass and blood. But it didn’t cool the burning.

 

“I’m fine.” I mumble, dipping in. But the burning doesn’t stop. It escalates. Screaming in agony.

 

I’m fine. My skin screams, I scream. Nails racking down my skin, trying to scratch of the layer that’s burning me, try fix the burns, the hurt.

 

I’m fine.

 

Everything explodes.

 

* * *

 

 

** Tony: **

 

Robert stood in front of them. Vision, Natasha, Rhodes and Tony. He was unhappy, and glaring.

 

“There is a child, tearing up the city. Go and sort him out before he kills anyone.”

 

“What do you mean, tearing up the city?” Vision asked.

 

“Several pipes have burst along the city, and we believe this kid here,” the screens filled with a teen boy, floating up in a tornado of water. He was screaming. “is to blame. Fix it. Kill him, if you must.”

 

“He’s a kid.”

 

“And he’s causing destruction. Need I remind you of what you signed?” Robert hissed. No one responds.

 

Tony Stark turned on his heel, Natasha closely following him. He hated what he was doing. He hated that he knew SHEILD agents would already be trying to kill the poor kid.

 

Stark hated that he had signed these accords. He had done it for safety, he thought it would be the best for the team, for the world. But it wasn’t. He wasn’t prepared to kill a kid.

 

He couldn’t kill a child.

> * * *
> 
>  

He was taller than Natasha, the kid. He was on the ground. It had been five minutes, and more and more of the city was slowly being destroyed.

 

Tony walked closer, telling the agents to back off. The boy was in pain. He was screaming, just screaming. The agents were reluctant, but he didn’t allow them to be, moving a few out of the way in order to reach the kid, Natasha walking the other side, grabbing his arm before anyone could react.

 

Within seconds of her touching him, the mud around him curled up, push her back. Holding her against a tree.

 

He moved slowly, now cautiously approaching him. Nat screaming not to go near him, saying he was dangerous. Tony ignored her. Something was too familiar.

 

The kid looked up, his eyes locking onto him. He had stopped screaming now, holding his arms up. His eyes were rimmed red, his hair matted from the wind from before. Tony narrowed his eyes, looking the boy in the eye.

 

It clicked; “Percy?”  

 

Everything stopped, Percy’s arms fell to his side. Natasha was free. “Don’t move! I know him.” Tony took a step forward, Percy was limp on the floor now, holding himself him by a shaking arm; “Percy?”

 

“She’s dead. She’s dead. She’s dead.”

 

“Where’s Sally?”

 

“Australia. She’s dead. She’s dead.” He was panicking now, rubbing his arms, hyperventilating. He kept mumbling ‘she’s dead’, rocking himself into a deep, worsening panic attack.

 

“I’m going to help you up. My house is safe.” He didn’t respond, continuing to mumble and groan the same sentence from before, his arms completely raw from being scratched. Tony stepped forward, arms under Percy’s, pulling him up. Percy didn’t fight, and instead fell completely limp. Passing out in Tony’s arms. “He’s fainted, don’t fucking move.”

 

Vision was the only one to rush in and help, grabbing Percy’s legs and flying him to the jet.

 

* * *

 

“You know him?” Natasha stood next to Tony, both in front of the screen. Watching Percy, who had woken up, and curled back up. Falling asleep this time.

 

“Yeah. I knew him.” Tony started. “I dated his mother, back in the day. Sally Jackson. One of the loveliest people I’ve met. I actually really liked her, to be honest. Her son, Percy, was only in grade, maybe pre or one? And he was just expelled. I remember I tried helping, offering to send him to a private school, but she was so head strong, saying she didn’t need the help. I honestly still respect her.”

 

“Where is she now?”

 

“No idea. We broke up, after about six months. It was a good relationship, but we became more friends than a couple. We were still friends for years, until she got into a relationship with some abusive pig, who I didn’t find out until a year after, when we talked again. I never really forgot her. I know she’s with someone. Percy, the kid, mentioned she was in Australia. She’d be on the way back now, if she’d have seen the news.”

 

“Did you do stuff like this before?”

 

“He was a weird kid, yeah.” Tony paused. “Friday? Check the police records for today, see if someone died. Specifically a girl.”

 

After a moment of silence, the AI spoke; “The only one that would fit, with the same age range as Percy. Is a girl called Annabeth Chase. The police are asking for family to collect the body.”

 

“Christ.”


	3. Next to Me

_Annabeth had one leg over mine, typing up homework on her computer, pausing every few moments, thinking of a word to type. Her curly blond hair was the curliest I have ever seen it, and it was tied in a loose (shitty bun) behind her head, pieces falling down, framing her face. She was more tanned than usual, it being summer now, with a touch of sun burn on her shoulders. I never burnt, she hated that, slapping me playfully when I tried to help sooth the burns._

_Her head is leaning on my shoulders, my vision blurry and foggy. But she’s clearly there, smiling at me. Her soft touches, her tinkling laughs. Everything’s perfect. Her golden hair is touching me, her body against mine. Smiling._

_  
Then it morphs._

_The room around us turns dark, and the floor underneath turns hard. Annabeth turns, morphing into the sick girl from Tarturus. She was bloodied, pale, and shaking. She was clinging to me, hand wrapped around my hand._

_“Annabeth…” She was paling further, and further. She was shaking._

_Then she was convulsing. Shaking in my arms, rigid. Annabeth was seizing, foaming at the mouth. She was dying in my arms._

_Then the cuts appeared, her face becoming torn up._

_She was thrown from me, flying across into the wall. I screamed, as she flew around, crashing and banging until she stopped. Her face distorted. Her body rigid, hands bloodied from her nails. She was dying in front of me._

_“ITS YOUR FAULT!” the words were repeated and repeated. SCREAMING. It was getting louder, the screams. Words blended together, everything blended. The screams, thousands of_ her _screaming at me that I was my fault. It was my fault. She was dead. She was dead because of me. Annabeth was dead._

“Percy,” _there was a soft voice, breaking through the rest. Within seconds it was drowned out again, he moaned, hands over his ears. Trying to block it all out. It wasn’t going. He needed it gone._ “Percy.”

 

“Shut up. Shut up. Shut up. Shut up.” _They weren’t going away. He wanted it to go away. Annabeth was still in his arms, rigid and dead. Her voice echoing, screaming and screaming. He wanted it gone. He wanted the screams to be gone._

“Percy, it’s just a dream,” The darkness melted. A red-head woman was sitting over him, eyes thinning in concern. She was too close. She was so close. Her hand was on his arm, and it was burning. He pushed himself back.

 

His chest burning, stabbing. It was so tight, everything was so fucking tight. And he couldn’t breathe. Each breathe felt like he was breathing through a straw, sucking in air, begging to have fucking air in his lungs. But nothing was working, everything was so hard. The room was spinning, hard, heaving pumping, pounding in his ears. The woman was in front of him, hand touching his arm. Her words, he couldn’t hear. She was worried.

 

Focusing on her lips, he tried. He tried to understand, she was calm. Instructing him on breathing, he thought.

 

“It’s just a dream.” She said again.

 

“Where’s Annabeth?” He spat out. Her face told him all he needed to know. He was use to dreams of her dying, but she would be right beside him. Annabeth would be holding his hand, whispering in his ear that she was okay. That she was alive. This woman didn’t know her, didn’t know Annabeth. “The blond. Where is she?”

 

He shoved a picture, one he never tore himself from. It was crumpled in his jeans or pants. It was in whatever he was wearing. He never let it leave his side.

 

“I’m so sorry.”

 

“Pardon?” He spat out.

 

“She was killed in an accident. A drunk driver hit her, and four others.”

 

The thumping got louder and louder. A highpitched ringing added to the mix, screaming. She was gone. How could she be gone.

 

“Get out.”

 

“I can’t leave you like this.”

 

“GET OUT!” He was standing now, eye level with her. He had no idea how he got there.

 

“I…”

 

“I said, LEAVE. I don’t need your fucking help. I’m fine. Get out.”

 

She paused, “I can’t leave you. You were told of her death two days ago, you’ve been asleep for those two days. You forgot she died.”

 

Then it begun to bubble. The grief that she was gone, and the memory of the officers coming to his door, knocking and breaking the news. Screaming in pain because Athena blamed him. His feet that were now bandaged, screaming in pain as he stood. He couldn’t remember what he did after that, he had an idea. Then it came the anger. The anger for that driver. The fucking cunt. Clenching fists, the exploding pipes added to the thumping in his ears, the window breaking added to his memories. Wind was whistling around the room at a speed that terrified that red-head woman.

 

“I don’t want to ask again. Get out.” Water was slowly flooding his room, and his eyes were dangerous. He wasn’t quite glaring yet, but it was dangerous. Dangerous enough to make the red-head woman to leave the room. Leaving Percy to stand in the running, boiling water. The water was slipping out of the room. He stood, watching the water bubbling around him, not even hearing the noise anymore.

 

He was desperate to hit something. Desperate to let out his anger more the just exploding a few pipes.

 

* * *

 

 

No one was in the room, and he was still shaking with anger. He wanted to get the anger out, and now. Everything was too much for him to handle at the moment. The punching bag in the centre begged his attention, already sightly beat in. It was perfect.

 

It swung under the weight of his fists, moving around, bouncing on the balls of his feet. No gloves, or protection between his skin and the bag. Each punch stung slightly, gradually getting more and more painful the longer he continued to beat up the bag. It was comforting.

 

_Punch_

 

Annabeth was in the room with him, keyboard clicking. He was punching, moving around everywhere. Keeping his mind quiet, everything was calm to him. Her in the room, doing her own thing. Him punching that bag. It was normal.

 

“Wanna spar?”

 

“Yep.” He hit the bag one last time, stilling it with his foot. She grinned, fists up. She was easily better at hand to hand combat than him, having fought with a dagger most of her life. She bounced and moved faster, but he was easily stronger.

 

_Punch_

Sparring with swords were different. He was better. He was easily better, stepping back and taking the sword out of her hand, flipping to push it against her throat.

 

“Screw you.”

 

“Love you too.”

 

_Punch_

 

The bag was swinging back a forth, and Percy was locked, blinking. Staring at the ground. He had to be fine, he had to be fine. Balling fists, he punched again, and again. Letting the anger come through more and more and more.

 

He wanted to kill whoever hurt her. He wanted them to feel the pain that she felt. To feel the pain that he felt. He wished the evil person, that cunt, who killed her could feel the aching, firey pains in his chest. The screams that continued in his head.

 

“Try to kill that bag.” A low voice said. Percy snapped up. A tall, extremely muscular man stood there. He was a mixture of Jason and Charles. He had a tight shirt on, with the American flag in the corner. There was a flash of a cross necklace. Percy almost snorted at it, at his ignorance. Fucking gods.

 

“Got an issue, mate?” He sneered back, hoping the man would leave him be. He didn’t, leaning against the wall, watching Percy. Arms crossed. “Enjoying the view?”

 

“I’m Steve Rogers.”

 

“And I’m, I don’t care.” He turned his back to Steve Rogers, ignoring him. “Do you have a fucking issue? Cause you sure seem like you do.”

 

“No need to use valugar language.”

 

“Exucse me, kind sir, doth thy have a problem with myself?” He was glaring at Steve now, Steve staring back somewhat calmly. Which really pissed Percy off. “Just get out, man.”

 

“You look upset.” He wanted to scream, he wanted to be alone. And he wanted to work out his anger, and work out his frustration. Work out his sadness.

 

“Cause you’re still here. Get the fuck out before I make you leave.”

 

“Just take a deep breathe, son.”

 

“Don’t son me.” Percy moved close to Steve, not quite matching his height. But he was tall enough, and strong enough to intimidate the super soldier. Steve starred at him with sad eyes, leaning against the wall.

 

“You lost someone.”

 

“I don’t want to talk.”

 

“Was it someone important?”

 

That pushed Percy too far. He punched Steve across the face, stepping back, ready to fight. Steve rubbed his nose, but didn’t take the stance.

 

“Was it?”

 

“Get. Out.” His voice was low now. He wanted this Steve person out of the room, now. He wanted him to get out, and leave him alone. Steve wasn’t moving, he wasn’t taking a stance. Percy pushed him further, taking a step in. “I don’t want to hurt you.”

“You won’t.”

 

“GET OUT!” He roared. Steve took a step back. He was pissed. Percy was shaking, the water in the cooler was leaking out the sides, threatening to spill. Exploding almost. The pool was lapping over the sides. And the air was moist. “Please. Just get out.”

 

* * *

 

 

** Tony **

Watching the kid was heartbreaking. Natasha had come to him, straight after she had gone into his room, saying he had exploded the piping around his room. They stood, watching him stand in the room for ten minutes, the water boiling around him, yet he isn’t affected. He seems to be enjoying the heat of the water.

 

“Should we do anything?” She asked.

 

“I think it would hurt him more.”

 

We stood still, Percy moving around the house, walking in circles until he found what he wanted. The gym. He seemed to relax more, moving to the bag, taking an easy stance.

 

“He’s a good boxer. We could use him on the team, Tony.”

 

“We can’t. He’s young.”

 

“Not thinking bout yourself for the first time?” she tried. Tony refused to take his attention of the kid, watching him swing punches and kicks, almost in a trance.

 

“Somethings wrong.”

 

Percy had stopped. Swaying slightly, sweating professedly. Something was off. He was locked in a trance, and with each passing second, Tony wanted to run in there, and try comfort the poor kid, try calm him down from a panic attack that he could see was bubbling. Then Steve walked in, and the kids mostly calm demeanour changed. He become suddenly violent. Scary enough for Steve to walk up to Tony, and ask what was the kids issue.

 

His only response was a shrug. The kid they pulled of the street was freaking out, and he didn’t want friends. He didn’t need friends.

 

“Wait till he’s asleep, and we’ll move him into a safer room. A room where there’s no pipes to explode.” Was his only plan. The Avengers didn’t approve, but the didn’t want to injure kid.

 

Nor did that want to fight him.

 

 

The second the kid fell asleep, they rushed into his room (which was still flooded) and sedated him. Carrying the unconscious boy into a new room, avoiding the straitens on his bed. And leaving him sleep.

 

The Avengers watch him wake. Watch Percy gaze around the room, bitting his lip. His eyes finding every camera in the room. He wasn’t reacting.

 

He was just sitting there.

 

He was sitting there, flicking a pen around and between his fingers. He wasn’t even trying to leave, trying to escape. He just sat.

 

“He’s not a threat.” Was the automatic response. Most would try break out, or at least try and find a weakness, try the door. Percy did none of that.

 

He was even balancing a pen on his finger, head tilted in concentration.

 

* * *

 

Percy almost laughed when he woke up. He wasn’t surprised that the Avengers had moved him. He had burst several pipes in the tower, and had screamed at some of the others. He slid up, sitting with his legs over his bed, elbows on his knees.

 

The room looked somewhat like a psych patient would be in. It was padded. But there was a desk in front of him, his now broken phone sitting on it across from him. He hadn’t really been thinking when he went swimming with it, and it was probably completely busted, along with all the videos of Annabeth. He prayed it wasn’t broken. He prayed all the photos that sat on there will still there. The secret photos he took of her when she wasn’t looking at him, the ones of them together, smiling. The ones of them, just being them.

 

He already knew what today would consist of. Camp friends had been through it before, losing members. They had to go to the police, they had to check it was the person. He hoped it wasn’t her. He hoped she was just at home, waiting for him in a worried state. He hoped and prayed they had gotten it wrong, and she was just injured, just in hospital.

 

Percy also prayed the Avengers wouldn’t stop him from leaving, eyes flicking around the room, finding some weak spots. The window obviously wasn’t reinforced, but leaving through there would kill him in seconds, and the possibility of her still being alive out-weighed the need to escape through there. The door looked weaker on the left, and if he applied the right pressure he could easily get out.

 

The second he’s out, he walks down the halls, hand gripped tightly on his phone, it working. But barely. No one is around him as he walks down the halls. No one talks to him.

 

He is completely alone. A horrific stabbing pain in his chest, rubbing it in circles. Praying it would go away, and leave him be. The pain growing more and more intense, as he took each step, the outside sunshine nearly blinding him. The police station is close, the main one. The one bodies are taken to. The one Annabeth isn’t at. Because she can’t be at, because she’s not dead.

 

Annabeth isn’t dead. She’s fine.

 

“She’s fine.” He mumbles to himself, walking the streets. People around him blurring, their own lives bustling around him. Their own happiness’s, their own sadness’s.

 

Concerned looks flickered on their faces as he limped down the street, hands shaking in some sort of fear, some sort of mixed anger, and betrayal. And sheer denial.

 

Walking into the police station nearly killed him.

 

“Hello, what are you here for?”

 

“My girlfriend apparently died.”

 

“Apparently?” The young officer pulled a face, motioning an older officer over. “Can you please explain?”

 

“I didn’t…” He faded off, watching his fingers move in and out of each other. “I was told by officers that she had died, and I would be needed to uh…” he felt his voice crack, and he shut his mouth, bitting down to stop the flood of tears he just new was about to hit, but he didn’t want it to hit.

 

“Ahh, yes. Can you describe her for us?” The older officer spoke, his face now low with worry, and sorry.

 

“About 5’7, blond. Has a tattoo on her neck of a owl, scars on her back and legs. A grey streak in her hair. Grey eyes…” he faded off, images of her flashing in his mind, he wanted to continue, hoping they would pull confused faces so he could rattle off more and more features of her, until they told him she wasn’t there.

 

But.

 

“I’m sorry, Sir. Just this way.” The older officer had taken control, stepping out from behind the desk, leading the way to the back. He rattled off facts and things Percy didn’t need to know, sorry’s he didn’t care about. He wanted to tell the officer to shut up, tell him he didn’t need noise. But he couldn’t. He’d done nothing wrong. He couldn’t be angry at this poor man. “Just through here.” He flicked a light, and everything flooded his vision.

 

Annabeth.

 

She was laying on the bed, eyes closed. Laying on her back, cuts laying over her body. One arm hanging strangely. Her right leg with a massive gash, which had been stitched up somewhat poorly.  His wise girl was broken, and torn up. She wasn’t the girl he had seen leave the apartment days before. It wasn’t the girl he knew. She was cut up, and broken in front of him, and it was terrifying. Yet she was so peaceful, her face calm. He lifted an eyelid up, he had seen her worse off than his, but her eyes dazzled with hope, and fear. Her eyes were dead.

 

Her eyes were gone.

 

“That’s her.” He gasped out.

 

“Do you need a moment?”

 

“No.” He gasped again. Moments were flashing, her laughter was flashing. She couldn’t be dead, but she was dead. She was laying too still on the table, too still for alive Annabeth.

 

“You can touch her.” The officer said. Percy moved forward, fitting his hand into her cold one. Her fingers laying to limp to be here, to cold to be her hands. He preferred her burning hands from Tartarus than the freezing hands in his grip right now. “Would you like me to leave you?”

 

“No. I’m fine. Her father is Frederick Chase. I can call him tonight, to organise the burial. Thank you.”

 

* * *

 

He couldn’t move his legs, he couldn’t take a step. Camp was below him, the campers walking around under him. Nothing was normal about it, they were sad. They all knew. They all knew she was gone.

 

Many assumed he would be gone too. Jackson never back to train them again, lead them again. She was dead, but he was gone. Nico and Thalia were running, gripping each other as they run towards him.

 

Thalia’s face was thick with tears, her hair messier than ever before. Nico looked almost worse, his skin too pale, his eyes bright red.

 

“Percy, Percy oh gods.” Thalia’s arms were wrapped around his neck, her head on his neck. Nico was on them, hand on Percy’s head, fingers wrapping through his hair. “I’m so sorry.”

 

“No.”

 

“We’ll be okay. We’ll be okay, okay?” Thalia was pulling away, hands on Percy’s arms, Nico still holding close. “We’ll be okay. Promise me?”

 

“Do you want me to promise that we’ll be okay? As a promise that we’ll be okay, or as a reassurance?”

 

Thalia doesn’t reply, face flicking through seconds of horror, anger, then sadness again; “Both.”

 

“Promise you won’t pull away?”

 

“I can’t promise that. I need to sleep.” He pushes past, Thalia running in front of him, her hand almost burning as she grabs his arm, tightly.

 

“Percy?”

 

“Please let go.” He muttered, clenching his fists. “I want to be alone.”

 

“We can’t let that happen.” Nico’s voice was soft, and raw. On a death of anyone, anyone other than Annabeth, Percy would wrapped them both in hugs, and mutter all the okay’s they needed.

 

But now, he was only filled with anger, and wanting to be alone. Almost needing to be alone. He needed to sit alone with his guilt.

 

The stupid guilt that was only hitting him now, the washing, pulling, screaming guilt.

 

“Please leave me alone.”

 

“We can’t.”

 

“LEAVE ME.” Everything snapped, he felt the pull of the water, ice shards near him, flicking up and around, near cutting his friends. He backed up. They were bleeding. He had never done that, he’d never, ever done that. “Please. Please, Gods, please. I need to be alone. I don’t want to be around anyone but _her_ , but _she’s_ dead. So, leave me fucking be.”

 

“The funeral is in two days.”

 

“Cool.” He mumbled, turning on his heel.

 

“You’re expected to write something.”

 

“Again, cool.”

 

“How can you say that?”

 

“I want this conversation over.” He was half way towards his cabin by now, the footsteps of his friend too close for comfort. “Meaning, bye.”

 

Two days to write everything about Annabeth.

 

Everything.

 

Sitting in his bed, hands shaking over the paper, notes jotted down of how much he loved her and why. But he just couldn’t do it.  


	4. Love Lost

**Here we have an excuse for slow updates:**

**So I’m doing AP Legal, and my final exam is coming up, and a lot of my energy is going towards that, and keeping up to date with it, and basically not drowning in the amount of work and study I have to do for it, writing is very much a hobby and a relaxation for me once I have completed several chapters / can’t mentally handle doing more legal studies. I have a massive plan for this story, and I know what I’m doing for the next 15(ish) chapters.**

**Any way, enough of me complaining about school.**

**Enjoy the chapter:**

* * *

 

The casket was closed.

 

Her face wasn’t visible to see.

 

It was closed, so they wouldn’t see. The halfbloods around me wouldn’t see. See the face that he saw, the limbs torn off that he  saw. So they wouldn’t see what she had become after death. To see what had hit her, and how changed she had become.

 

The fucking casket was closed.

 

That’s all he could see, after person after person walked up, and spoke of her, glancing at her casket every so often, smiling sadly at the ground of grey demi-gods, barely holding themselves together. Person after person, struggling to hold it together, speaking of her, speaking of Annabeth, saying that she was amazing, she was beautiful, that she changed their lives, that she was so stunning and beautiful and worth so much more than the death she received.

 

Person after person, offering me slight touches walking up, or walking back down to their seats, thumbs rubbing softly over his shoulder.

 

But the casket was closed. And there was a fucking black and white picture of her smiling face next to it, surrounded in her least favourite fucking flowers, Dahlias. The white, plump flowers surrounding her face, frozen in a slightly grin, his face cut of the photo, but his arm is not.

 

The casket is closed, and the picture someone chose to use is one with him in it, arm over her shoulders, probably them both laughing at a stupid joke, but happy.

 

Thalia stands up from behind him, hand grazing his back softly, walking up with shaking hands. He drifted his eyes from the casket to Thalia, her skin paler than normal, her eyes sunken in. A taller, tanner girl stood with Thalia, hand wrapped in his cousins. He tore his eyes away, staring at the fucking closed casket again, the wood so polished, and too perfect.

 

The world is so foggy, only the closest casket is in clear view, the world seeming to be dissolving and reappearing around it, fading with each blink, each breathe. Ceasing to exist with each passing second, her death seeming less and less real the longer the world fizzled around her closest casket, the longer the world seemed to twinkle around her. Black dots flickering around his view, flying around his eyes, flying around her. Laughter from so low, laughing because he’s going insane.

 

The world is too bright, the light shining around her closest casket, almost blinding him, the seat under him fading in and out, the thumping in his chest growing harder and louder, mind clicking and freaking out because he’s going to fall, and he’s going to fall. And the chair below him isn’t there because it isn’t real.

 

“Percy,” Thalia’s hand was hard on his shoulder, her face flickering in and out of his vision, her red eyes in front of his, in front of the casket.

 

“I can’t see her.”

 

“It’s your turn to speak.” Her voice was too soft, her touches on his arm, rubbing up and down was barely there. “I can help you up.”

 

Standing there, Thalia a step behind him. He couldn’t see the casket. The stand is swaying violently, the crowd in front of him warping as they sit and watch him, knuckles growing whiter and whiter with each second.

 

“Percy.”

 

“I can’t see her.” He mumbles out again, Thalia’s hand on his back again. “I, uh. I don’t know. Annabeth was uh. Fuck.” he leans forward, resting his head on the stand, blocking all view of everyone watching him, their sad eyes staring bullet holes through his chest, through his face.

 

“Just breathe.” Piper’s voice was in his ear, a hand slipping onto the other side of his back. Her voice was rooms away, her hand through thousands of layers of shirts. “You’re okay.”

 

The words on the paper blended together as he tried to focus on them, his eyes barely being able to focus on anything, barely able to focus enough to see clearly; “Annabeth was, pretty amazing. Everyone’s saying she’s aint. Perfect. Fuck. Everyone’s saying she’s perfect, but she ain’t. She’s messy, and laughs loud. Too loud. Shut up, never shuts up about archit – architecture. She better. Fucking hell.” he pauses again, looking up at the crowd, her father and mortal family staring at him in some sort of horror, Athena sitting with Poseidon, eyeing him with concern.

 

His father with his hand on his chair, readying himself to come up.

 

“She. She had uh…” he fades off, picking up the paper with the hands that are shaking too much to be his.

 

“Had my back.” Thalia supplied.

 

“Always has my back.  She made me. She…”

 

“A better person.”

 

“She made me a better person. She, uh. She…She made me stu-study.” Thalia was over his shoulder now, reading the letter in his hands, shaking. Her hand touching his. He narrows his eyes, forcing the focus, trying to see where she’s touching.

 

“I can’t feel my hands. Oh gods. I can’t feel my hands. I can’t.” He pushes Thalia away, stumbling away, crashing into her casket, it blaring into full focus, the world still fizzling and filled with fog. But the casket screaming in colour and intensity. “I can’t feel my hands. I can’t feel my hands.”

 

The crowd is up, some standing and watching him, muttering words between them.

 

“They’re not real. Not real.” he mumbles, reaching a hand to touch her casket, finally feeling something under his hands, finally having feeling back in his fingers. “Come back, come back. Come back.”

 

“Get up.” Piper was in front. Blocking the casket. “Are you drunk?” She hisses, her face flashing in anger. He pushes away from her, stumbling away from her funeral, leaving it in some sort of disappointment, and horror.

 

* * *

 

People began moving around camp again, a few gathering over the lake, glancing down. Their faces distorted with the lapping over the lake. Mumbles carry, especially mumbles from the animals around.

 

News travels fast.

 

“Perseus.”

 

“Percy.”

 

“What’s going on?” Posiedon joined him on the floor of the lake. “What was that?”

 

“I’m going insane.” He mumbles. He shakes his head. “I can’t feel my hands, my feet. I’m insane.”

 

“You’re grieving.”

 

“I’m insane.” He pushes, not allowing him to fight the fact anymore. “I want to be alone.”

 

“I don’t think that’s reasonable.”

 

“Fine. Don’t follow me, you stay here.” He grumbles, wrapping the mud around Poseidon, and pushing off, and out of the lake, walking through the hoards of worried demigods, a few calling out as he passes.

 

* * *

 

 

The wood, he couldn’t feel the wood. No matter how much he dragged and scrapped his finger across, digging his nails into the cracks. Tilting and turning them, almost trying to break his nails.

 

No one was in the room, it was deadly silent. He didn’t want it to be silent, because silent meant thinking about her. Humming quietened the silence, distracting him to the song coming out of his lips, his eyes glued on his fingers, trying to feel that fucking wood, trying to feel what was going on around him, but he couldn’t. Nothing felt _real_. Still. He had this once with Annabeth, but never this bad. Never like this. He just buried his head into her, Annabeth drawing circles on his hand, carefully scratching it until he was grounded again.

 

But even her techniques weren’t working.

 

“FUCK!” The table flew backwards, crashing down, falling on its side. Percy was standing up, anger surging through his body now. Nothing was fucking working. He just wanted to feel, he needed to fucking feel. “Fuck! Fuck, fuck fuck.” Nails in his hair, scratching at his scalp, trying to feel the scars that ran down it, but he couldn’t. Nothing was connecting. His brain wasn’t fucking working anymore. “FUCK!” He was in control, and needing to feel, swinging himself around, punching a hole in the wall. His hand stinging in pain for a second before failing again.

 

“Percy,” Chiron was at the door, Thalia behind him. Travis and Connor Stool, Jason, Piper and Leo stood behind her. Percy was frozen. In the space between his head screaming at he had to feel, had to touch, and knowing he can’t be out bursting around his friends, around his mentors.

 

Around people that looked up to him.

 

The seven entered the room, Piper standing the closest, offering him a smile, working down the line to Thalia, who was sending daggers.

 

“Got a fucking issue, Grace?” Percy sneered, not knowing what or who had come over him. He wanted to catch himself.

 

But he didn’t.

 

“Yeah, you’re drunk.” Her voice was soft, yet deadly. He could see, in her eyes somewhere, that she was concerned for him. But a majority of her look was stand-off. She was ready to fight him, and smash his head in with a rock.

 

He wanted push her to do that.

 

“I’m not drunk.” He mumbled.

 

“You kicked over a table. And punched a wall.” Piper spoke. “You don’t normally do that.”

 

“Did you notice that my girlfriend is dead? Or am I the only one?”

 

“You’re the only one that doesn’t care.” Travis.

 

“Pardon?”

 

“You’re drunk, or high.” Travis was continuing, taking a step towards Percy, eyes flicking to Percy’s hands. Which hadn’t moved from his side. “You’re not yourself. You were up there, stumbling over your words, acting like you couldn’t string a single sentence together about the girl you supposedly loved with your entire heart.”

 

Percy didn’t know how to react. Travis’s words slapping him like a whip. He stumbled back, trying to understand what was just told. Hand on the wall, screaming still because he couldn’t feel it, and it didn’t feel real. His hand didn’t feel real. It didn’t feel like his. None of him felt like it was _his_.

 

“We’d expect you to behave properly.” Chiron was speaking softly. Percy couldn’t bring himself to look at him, not wanting to make eye contact with any of the demi-gods in front of him. They all hated him right now. “How you behaved, is a reflection of your relationship. And the respect you held for her.”

 

He couldn’t reply again. He didn’t know how to. His brain screamed in some sort of weird pain, screaming for movement. Screaming for anything.

 

Piper was in front of him, eyes connecting with his; “Did you respect her?”

 

He allowed her to charmspeak him, he had lost all the strength to repell it, to hold himself against it. He didn’t want to fight anymore. Percy just wanted to punch a wall, and then sleep for the next month. “I do respect her.”

 

“Did you love her?”

 

“I do love her.” He was desperate for them to leave, tapping his foot. Trying to distract his mind from wanting to cry, and moving the energy to something else. To another part of his body. Putting it into the world.

 

“Why did you drink?” Travis again. Percy had lost all of his energy. He had no energy to fight, no energy to argue. He just wanted to stop. So he turned, back against the wall, eyes glued across the room, ignoring his friends. “You’re just going to fucking ignore us?” Travis was closer to him, but Percy refused look at him.

 

Hands gripped his shirt, Travis’s hands in Percy’s shirt, holding himself up to Percy’s height.

 

“Please let go of me.” He was trying to keep calm. But he wasn’t calm. The anger from before was back, and he was itching to push Travis back, itching to yell at them all. But he didn’t. He took a deep breathe, in his nose, out his mouth.

 

“Not until you fucking tell us, why you’re drunk?”

 

He completely snapped, grabbing Travis turning around. Pressing his arm against his neck, pushing Travis hard into the wall. Travis’s hands were still gripping Percy’s shirt, hand dangerously close to touching his skin. “I said, let go of me.”

 

“Why are you drunk?”

 

“I’m not drunk, Stool. I’m not drunk. And you…” He pushed Travis harder into the wall, forcing him to let go of his shirt. “I love her. I’m not drunk.”

 

They didn’t reply. None of them replied.

 

“I’ll see you around, Jackson,” Leo left the room, Piper soon following, another soft, sad smile. The Stolls left as well.

 

Jason remained, bitting his lip; “I hope you’re telling the truth. For your sake.”

 

“Don’t talk to me again, Jackson,” Thalia was close to his face, tears running down her face, thick and fast. “Have you even cried?”

 

“Please don’t touch me.” Percy mumbled out. Percy knew she was looking at him, he knew she was considering saying something before leaving the room.

 

Only Chiron remaining; “I expected more from you, Percy. I really did.”

 

* * *

 

“You could lift the table up again.” Mr D stood in the doorway. “Instead of letting your poor, old cousin do the work.”

 

“Fuck off.”

 

Mr D entered the room, and Percy only wanted to scream. But he didn’t say much, lifting the table up, pulling a chair up to be facing Percy.

 

“I’m sorry about Annabeth.”

 

“You remembered her fucking name, only after she’s dead. Real classy.”

 

“I mean it as a joke. Using the wrong names. I really respected Annabeth. She was an amazing person, a strong fighter. And Olympus is so beautiful now, thanks to her. I am sorry, Percy.”

 

“This room is suffocating.” Percy mumbled, the walls threatening to close in on him, screaming again. Mr Dr nodded, standing up, basically leading Percy out the door, and out the back of the big house, sitting down on stairs. Mr D didn’t say a word, Percy hanging his head, trying to calm the pangs of fire in his chest. Not really understanding what was happening. Panic attacks had felt similar to this, but it was nothing. They were nothing to the pangs. “I’m not drunk.”

 

“I know.”

 

“I love her.”

 

“I know.”

 

“I respect her.”

 

“I know that. I know you didn’t drink, it’s easy to tell. I’m sorry. I’m sorry that Annabeth is dead, and I’m sorry that Chiron is treating you badly. He sees Annabeth as a daughter, and her dying, he’s trying to find someone to blame, to stick his grief on. I don’t think you’re the bad guy, Percy. I’m really sorry.”

 

Mr D was being nice. And he hated it. He never wanted to be treated differently because Annabeth was dead. He expected, and almost didn’t mind his friends anger, they were grieving, and they placed the blame on him. The grief was on him. He didn’t mind. He could deal with it.

 

But Mr D showing so much compassion, sitting next to him and calming talking. Giving him advice, trusting Percy’s word over everyone? Admitting himself that he is going to miss Annabeth? It was nearly destroying him more, if that was even possible. Hearing that the supposed heartless, uncaring Mr D was upset by his girlfriends, by Annabeths death, was shocking. It was unheard of. He almost wanted Mr D to be one of the ones yelling at him, telling him off for being ‘drunk’. But he wasn’t. And it was messing with him the longer he sat by his side, head in his hands. Percy tightened his fist, tightened his jaw. He wanted to scream. Scream out everything that was happening, that people, his friends. His mentors hated him. Athena hated him (not new but still). But he mostly wanted to scream because Mr D; “My chest hurts. It feels like. It feels like fire. It hurts so badly.” He mumbles out. “It hurts so fucking bad. I can’t even feel my hands. Nothing feels normal.”

 

Everything was slipping out so quickly. He didn’t want it to, but everything was coming out. Mr D’s hand was on his back, rubbing hard circles. He didn’t want him being nice. He wanted to shrug away, move away. He wanted to push Mr D away and scream at him for touching him. But he couldn’t.

 

Something in his mind told him to not move, that he had to stay. He just. He couldn’t move away.

 

“Tell me when you can feel my hand.”

 

“My backs not as bad.”

 

“What’s the worst?” Mr D was speaking so softly, and Percy couldn’t reply for a moment. The tightness in his chest making it hard for him to speak, form words and breathe.

 

“My hand and arm.”

 

Percy could hardly focus now, and Mr D was being gentle, and like he never, ever was. His eyes floated in and out of focus. The ground in front of him was barely visible, yet he didn’t feel tears. He didn’t feel the burning urge to blink them away. He didn’t feel the wet, salty tears. He wasn’t crying.

 

“You know you’re dissociating? It’s nothing serious. Your brain can’t figure out how to handle it, or handle the situation. So it pulls itself out. That what’s happening now. You’re going to be okay, Percy. I can promise you that. It might take a while, but it’s going to be okay. One day…No one will go to the beach today, do you want to sit there?”

 

Percy didn’t want to move. His legs where locked in place, he was only just getting feeling back to his arm. And he wanted to still scream. He wanted to cry a bit, but he didn’t. He was in control now.

 

“Dinner is soon. Wait until everyone goes, and then go to your cabin. I can keep everyone away.”

 

“Thank you.”

 

“Your welcome, Peter.”

 

“Fuck off.” Percy mumbled out. Mr D smiled at him.

 

* * *

 

 

Mr D left him in the room, a low rumble from the bottom of camp. It was dinner. Mr D seemed to understand that he didn’t want to eat, and didn’t feel like eating today. That he couldn’t eat today.

 

“Are you going to eat dinner?” He wiped around. Thalia was standing in the doorway, leaning on the frame.

 

“Get out of my cabin.” He hissed. Thalia didn’t move.

 

“I may be pissed off, but you need to eat.”

 

“Get out.”

 

“You need to eat.” She stepped into his room, and any calmness that Percy had gained, sitting with Mr D was gone. Everything was red. His hands, his hearing, his seeing. “Perce.”

 

Everything went into slow motion. He grabbed her hand, tight enough to make her squirm, turning her wrist to be behind her back, leading her out of the cabin, ignoring her attempts to talk. She was headstrong, he’d give her that. He could hear her, her saying she was pissed at him, but needed support too.

 

And he needed the support.

 

“I don’t need your fucking help, Grace. Get out of my face. I’m fine on my own.”

 

“Perce.” She turned, looking at him. He didn’t release his grip.

 

“Don’t turn to me, and fucking say ‘Perce’ to like you care? You accused me of drinking at her funeral. Just get out of my face.”

 

“Perce.”

 

“OUT!” He pushed her away. Thalia stood, facing him. Face half horror, half anger. He stood his ground, fists clenched, the moisture in the air slowly growing more and more dense.

 

“If you die…”

 

“Then I’ll be happy.” He turned on his heel, ignoring the rain that was falling down around him, soaking the campers and the Hunters.

 


End file.
